Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: Claire Matthews had never *not* celebrated Christmas before, but this year seemed to be a first for everything. 2003, Claire/Ryan friendship, with baby Joey Matthews and Jenny Hardy.


**Universe/Background**: Pre-_The Following, _2003, the first Christmas after Joe's arrest.

**Rating**: K, friendship

**Summary**: In all her lifetime, Claire Matthews had never _not _celebrated Christmas before.

**Author's Note:** I have too many Christmas songs on my iTunes and while I am aware that it's almost May now, I couldn't leave this one alone. Please enjoy. :)

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:::

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If she hadn't had an infant that needed to be fed and taken care of, Claire Matthews wouldn't have even gotten out of bed on the morning of December twenty-fifth. As things stood, however, she didn't have a choice: Joey's hungry cries woke her up around seven AM—later than most mornings, thankfully—and being the single parent she was now, she had no other option than to get up and tend to him. Even so, it took some time. She spent a few seconds pushing her head into her pillow, praying for him to quiet down, before finally facing reality, throwing off the covers, and getting up.

As she did every morning, she looked over her shoulder as she stood up, examining the far side of the bed with a close eye. Every morning it looked the same; every morning it was immaculate. She knew no one slept on that side of the bed anymore—and no one was likely to any time soon—and yet she couldn't help looking. It had turned into her own daily ritual, one of many superstitions that now haunted her, for she knew the moment she stopped checking, the moment she let her guard down, he'd be there, with a bloody knife in his hand and that dead look in his eyes.

Claire lifted her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes roughly as she attempted to force the thoughts from her mind. She yanked her hands away from her face the second she realized exactly what body part she was pressing her fingers against, and she nearly screamed in frustration. Would there ever be anything that in her life that wasn't tainted by him?

It was bad enough that she imagined him everywhere, felt him everywhere, inside the house, but these days it had gotten so bad that she could hardly meet her own eyes in the mirror or use a knife in the kitchen without paralyzing herself with illogical fears.

_He's going to prison, _she told herself again and again and again, her daily mantra to allay her superstitions. _The police have him. He's been arrested. He isn't going to touch you or hurt you or kill you. He's going to go to prison for the rest of his life and he's going to die there._

Some days, these thoughts helped.

Other days, nothing helped.

As Claire walked down the hallway to Joey's room just off the living room, she wondered what sort of day today would be.

.

It was well past noon by the time she finally risked turning on the television. She sat down on the sofa, cradled Joey against her chest as if he were her good-luck charm, and pressed the 'power' button on the remote. She braced herself, ready to face him again—for once, not in her imagination—but she was pleasantly surprised when she flipped through three different news channels without once seeing his mug shot or hearing reference to his name.

For the first time in many, many years, she sent genuine thanks to Jesus on his birthday.

And then, practically in the same thought, asked for the thousandth time how He could have let something like this happen—to her, to all those girls, to their families, to her baby…

Claire shut off the TV with the fierce press of a button, angrily tossing into the seat of an armchair on the far side of the room. She threw it too hard—for having momentarily imagined Joe sitting there—and the device bounced off the cushions before falling onto the hardwood floor and shattering.

The noise woke Joey from his post-feeding stupor, and in two seconds, he was screaming loud enough to wake families two counties over.

With a sigh more of relief than annoyance, she welcomed the noise. _I must be the only mother who feels happy when her baby cries, _Claire thought to herself as she held him closer, pacing between the living room and the kitchen as she rubbed his back and murmured soft reassurances. She couldn't help it, though; any noise was better than the complete quiet she'd been living in for months.

As Joey's screams filled up the empty, silent house with boisterous noise she managed to, for a time, forget that it was Christmas, forget that she was alone on Christmas, and forget that she would probably—in all likelihood—be alone for the rest of her Christmases to come.

And for a time, as she held her baby and whispered soft nothings to calm him and put him back to sleep, she didn't care. She had Joey, her beautiful son—the only thing that remained perfect and untainted from her old life—and he was enough to make her feel like she wasn't alone anymore. He was enough to get her to wake up and keep living each day instead of giving up like she so sorely wanted to most nights.

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:::

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Ryan Hardy didn't know what he was doing here.

He sat in his car, his leg bouncing nervously up and down in time with the idling of his engine, as he stared at her house from across the street.

He shouldn't be here.

He shouldn't be anywhere near here.

He felt his phone vibrate in his hand and he clenched his fist tight around it to quell the noise. He didn't even have to look; he knew who was calling without even needing to look at the phone's caller ID. The same person had been calling him all day, leaving message after message and sending him text upon text. They all sat on his cell, untouched: the texts unopened and the voicemails never played back. He already knew what they all had to say. He'd known before he'd even been so foolish as to open the first one earlier this morning.

_If you are going to her house, Ryan, I swear to God I will drive down there after you. Leave the poor woman ALONE! She deserves the smallest bit of privacy she can get, and that does NOT include you. You're being worse than the press, you know. At least THEY leave her alone on CHRISTMAS!_

He knew that message by heart, and he was sure that if he'd opened the others, or listened to any of the voicemails, he'd know the rest by heart as well. What he didn't know, however, was how to answer, and that was why he was ignoring her. He knew Jenny would see through any lie he tried to feed her, and that she'd immediately shoot down any flimsy cover story he might try to come up with. The truth was all she'd accept, he knew, but even _he _didn't know what the truth was.

So he hit the 'end' button on the call, silencing the vibrations for a few precious seconds.

Jenny would yell at him when he got back, he knew. She's stand there with her hands on her hips and that judging purse to her lips, and she'd ask where he'd been and what he'd been thinking like suddenly she was no longer his younger sister, but his mother and his keeper. And then when he finally admitted it—because how could he lie?—she'd sigh angrily and then explain the situation like she knew it better than he did. Like just because she was a _woman, _of course she understood these things better than he did or could ever hope to as a man. She'd call Claire "that poor Matthews woman" like she always did and order Ryan to leave her alone because he wasn't helping, he was only make things worse.

_Yes, _Ryan thought to himself, annoyed, as he clutched his phone tight in his hand again, _because leaving her alone will help. Leaving her alone with her grief and her heartbreak and no one except her one-year-old son for company; that will make her feel better._

He didn't know much about Claire Matthews, admittedly, but he did know enough about people (and had had enough personal experience) to be aware that having company—any type of company—was better than wallowing in sorrow. Especially on a day like today.

Before he could lose his nerve, he shut off the car, took his key out of the ignition, unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out. He left his phone in the console between the front seats, happily letting its vibrations fade away as he shut the door, locked it, and made his way across the snow-blanketed street towards her house.

He didn't need Jenny's permission or approval to do what he wanted, or what he thought—what he _knew_—was right.

He made it up the walk quickly, slipping only once on the new-fallen snow, but quickly managed to right himself before he took a dive into the white-green grass. He looked up at her house as he approached it, unsure how he felt about its lack of decorations. He knew he shouldn't have expected anything, but its unornamented exterior stuck out like a sore thumb amongst its exuberantly decorated neighbors. There wasn't even one string of lights on the room or a wreath on the door; if there hadn't been snow on the ground and icicles clinging to her gutters, Ryan might not have known it was even Christmastime to look at her house.

As quickly as he'd hopped out of his car and made his way to her house, he rapped his knuckles a couple times on the door. He stood still, listening for movement on the inside of the house. As he stood, waiting, he suddenly realized that she might not even be home. That would be just as plausible a reason for the lack of decorations, wouldn't it? What if she was out of town? Maybe she had friends and family to take her and her son in. Maybe she wasn't even—

He hadn't finished the thought before it was shot down as the door swung open and Claire Matthews head appeared beside the door frame. "What do you—" she began hotly, but broke off at once when she realized who was standing before her. She blinked over at him in silence for a moment, looking utterly taken aback, before managing to rein in her surprise. "Ryan."

"Hi," he managed awkwardly, watching the way she craned her neck over his shoulder, as if expecting to see a fleet of police cruisers and FBI agents following up behind him. He smiled faintly, catching her eye as it returned to her face. "Just me," he murmured quietly.

Her lips flickered up for the briefest moment, still distracted, before she focused in on him. "What… Um, what brings you here, Ryan?" she wondered, and he watched her face as she seemed to be struggling to remember if this meeting had been scheduled. "Today?" she asked abruptly a second later, and when he heard the sharpness in her voice, he couldn't help but look away.

"I, uh…" Ryan cleared his throat awkwardly, ducking his head to avoid the understandably questioning look in her eye. The word 'WELCOME' filled his vision from the mat beneath his feet and he wondered if she'd feel insulted if he turned and ran the other way. This had all made sense in his head—driving down, showing up, knocking on her door—it had all made sense before, but now that he was actually here, he suddenly realized just how intrusive it was, just how out of place. How unexplainably rude. Jenny had been right—right to tell him not to go, right to bother him nonstop, right to keep trying to get him to come home and leave her alone. She'd said it herself—_you're being worse than the press_—and she was right. Even Claire had been expecting reporters when she'd opened the door, and that made his insides twist with guilt.

What the hell was he doing here? On _Christmas_?

_What is _wrong_ with you, Hardy?_

"I'm—sorry," he continued hurriedly, forcing himself to look up and meet her eye. "I don't know why I'm here. It's just—" He gestured around awkwardly to the light dusting of snow in the yard. Bent green stalks of grass could still be seen poking up out of the ratty blanket of white that covered the lawn, but they would be buried soon, he knew. "I thought, I don't know, maybe you'd, uh, want company…" He began to trail off, but then quickly shook his head, adding hurriedly, "_Not_ like that. Not—" He broke off, fuming silently as he tried not to incriminate himself any further. She probably already thought he was a stalker, showing up like this, and now he'd practically gone and told her he'd arrived at her door to have sex with her. Which he hadn't. At all. "It's just that it's Christmas," he began again, "and I thought…" He sighed, breaking off and giving up. "Sorry," he muttered again, shaking his head and eyeing her only briefly before averting his gaze again. He focused on her pale hand resting on the doorframe, steering clear of the deceiving welcome mat, as he finished, "I'm sorry for bothering you, Claire. You probably have family over. I—I should go."

He turned around, pivoting in a 180-degree arc as quickly as he could and hurrying down her front steps. He struggled through the slippery and just-fallen snow that blanketed her front walk, trying not to fall this time, but he only made it a couple steps when he was stopped in his tracks.

"It's just me and Joey," she called out to him.

Ryan froze when she spoke, half because she'd surprised him and nearly caused him to slip and fall and half because—was she actually inviting him inside?

"If you really want…" Claire trailed off, and Ryan turned around slowly, just in time to see her shrugging from her post in the doorway. She smiled faintly when his dumbstruck eyes met hers. "If you can put with a capricious infant for a of couple hours… Then come on in." She opened the door a few inches more, admitting with what seemed like embarrassment, "It… It would be really nice to have some company, actually. If you're willing."

.

It was strange, how familiar her house was to him the moment he walked inside. It probably helped that there were no decorations inside, either—no Christmas tree, no presents, no nativity scene, no garlands. The inside was just as bare as the outside had been, but he felt uneasy for an entirely different reason now as he looked around. Ryan Hardy felt his body tense as he stepped across the threshold, and he couldn't help the way his eye immediately scanned the area, as if expecting to find Joe sitting in an armchair, nursing a glass of scotch with a smile on his face like he had been the first time Ryan had visited.

Claire had been making her way through the room, but she turned when she didn't hear him follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her face fall. "Sorry," she murmured apologetically, keeping her voice low as if this were a sacred site. "I forgot that you've been here before."

Ryan shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it as he looked over at her. "It's fine," he told her, plastering a smile on his face. "It's really—"

"No," she interrupted quietly. "It really isn't fine." Her somber voice wiped the smile off his face, and after a second, he closed his open mouth, not having a word to say in reply. She was right, after all. It wasn't fine, it wasn't okay; not for him and certainly not for her. He didn't need to look into her eyes now to know that it might _never_ be okay. "If… If you want to go, Ryan, you can…"

He shook his head, stepping towards her and further into her house. "No," he replied at once. "No, I'm fine. If you want me to go, I _can_ go, but… I'm okay here." He looked her in the eyes. "I'm fine, Claire."

She stared back at him for a long minute, taking a deep look into every aspect of his face, and—Ryan couldn't help but think—his mind. Eventually, she looked away, and they stood facing each other for an awkward moment before she finally met his eyes again, asking quietly, "Is your, um, is your heart doing okay?"

He nodded, forcing himself to suppress the surprise that rose in him at her concern. He knew that, by now, he really should have stopped expecting her to hate him, but he hadn't quite managed it. No matter what Joe had done, Ryan had still been the one to ruin her life; he'd been the one that shattered the illusion of normalcy Joe had created around her by discovering and exposing the ugly truth… She _should _hate him, or at least dislike him, for the key role he'd played in the ruination of her life. But somehow she didn't. Instead, she was standing here, wondering after his wellbeing, asking if the heart her husband had driven a knife into was still functioning properly like she really cared. "It is," he replied, not having to force a fake smile this time. "Thanks for asking."

She smiled back briefly, nodding along. "And how are you… adjusting?" she asked hesitantly. "To everything else?"

"To not being able to work?" He shrugged. "As good as can be expected, I guess. I'm bored a lot of the time," he admitted.

"Ah," she nodded with a wry smile, "so that's why you came to see me."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no…" He trailed off, glancing over in her direction. She was staring at him, and he knew that now was when he was supposed to justify himself and his reason for being here. She didn't deserve to have to have to wait around for a real explanation from him after she'd so generously invited him inside. She deserved to know now. He took a breath. "I really… I really just did want to see if you were okay," he told her quietly. "I know I'm being intrusive—and you can kick me out whenever you want—but it's Christmas, and I couldn't help but think, after everything that's happened…" He sighed, looking away. "I just didn't want you to be alone today if you didn't want to be," he admitted finally, meeting her eye as he finished. "It's not a good holiday to be all alone."

He watched, surprised, as her chin seemed to tremble as she attempted to smile at him. He was about to ask what was wrong—what had changed—when her whisper cut through the silence.

"That… That was really sweet of you, Ryan."

Ryan turned his head away from her, uncomfortable at her praise. He didn't think anyone had called him 'sweet' since his mother had been alive. Jenny preferred to use the term 'jackass' most days, and 'moron' if she was feeling particularly tolerant. He scratched his neck so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes. "That, uh, wasn't exactly my intention, to be… sweet." His mouth twisted awkwardly around the word, as if he'd forgotten how to pronounce it correctly.

"I know," Claire replied softly. "And that's why I wanted to be sure you knew."

Ryan's head lifted up at her response, and he stared at her, watching a small smile grace her lips before she turned her head, nodding towards the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked. "I was just boiling water for tea, if you wanted a cup."

Ryan felt an unconscious smile stretch over his face to match hers as he nodded. "I'd love some tea; thank you."

She gestured around the room to the various couches and chairs in the room. "Have a seat wherever you like," she called as she headed into the kitchen, "I'll be back in a minute."

Ryan watched her go for a moment before turning towards the rest of the room. His eyes immediately zeroed in on the seats he'd taken notice of the moment he'd walked inside, and he made a point to avoid them. He didn't want to sit where he'd sat just those few months ago, and he certainly didn't want to see Claire sitting there, either. He was just making his way towards on armchair on the far side of the room when something caught his eye. He turned his head towards it, not knowing what to expect from a split-second glance, and he felt his confused face fall slack at what he saw.

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:::

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Claire almost dropped the mugs she'd been holding when she stepped back into the living room. She cursed herself internally, struggling to keep her hands steady as she made her way across the room. Ryan hadn't moved from his spot by the wall, and she guessed him to be too mesmerized by her piteous anti-shrine to hear her as she moved towards him.

She didn't know why she'd told him to sit down in here; why she hadn't thought this through. She should've taken him to another room. She should've taken him _outside _rather than let him in here. Out of all the people in her life, he was the last one she would've wanted to see this.

"I see you've found my wall of shame," she murmured softly, causing him to jump in place as she appeared by his side.

She met Ryan's eye for only the shortest second as she passed him his mug, but it gave her enough time to see that dumbstruck look on his face, enough to know that an explanation was necessary, and that the rest of this day was about to end up being even worse than she'd expected when she'd woken up this morning.

"It's childish," she admitted, tipping her chin towards the wall. "I know that already, trust me, but you can say it if you like." She sighed heavily, facing the wall herself. A multitude of empty frames greeted her eyes, crowding the wall space and just waiting to be filled again. Those that _were _filled—only partly still—looked ugly and out of place with sections missing and photographs sliced into pieces. Her smiling face that filled 2.5 of the frames made her stomach twist—every smile back then had been a lie, an illusion—and if it weren't for Joey being in the pictures as well, she wouldn't have let them stay up.

She kept her eyes trained on the picture holders, letting them skim from empty frame to empty frame, occasionally letting them hover over Joey's face or her own face, but she never once looked over to gauge Ryan's reaction again. She didn't want to look at his face again and see the judgment there. She'd gotten enough of that from the rest of the world.

She nursed her tea, blowing on it softly before taking a small sip. As she stared calmly at the sea of blank picture mounts in front of her, she remembered when she'd finally snapped. She tried to think how many hours she'd spent in total, both tearing this wall apart piece by piece and then putting it back together, but she couldn't begin to fathom how long it had taken.

She did remember, however, when it had started. She remembered how she'd caught sight of him from across the room, remembered how she hadn't even thought before hurling the wineglass she'd been holding in her hand across the room. It had shattered against one of the frames, knocking it to the floor and spattering red wine about the room like blood.

It hadn't taken her long, after that, to demolish what was left. She'd torn the frames from the wall indiscriminately, cutting her hands and shattering glass and bruising her feet in the frenzy, but she'd hardly taken notice. When she'd finally finished, she'd simply stood, panting, above the wreckage. She'd felt her heart pounding in her chest and her adrenaline-fueled blood running through her veins, and for the first time in a long time, she felt something other than complete and utter despair.

She'd felt alive.

It had only been later, after she'd cleaned up the glass shards, stacked the frames, and ripped the photographs of him to indiscernible specks of colored paper, that she realized she'd been wrong, that she wasn't alive. It had only been later, as she'd held Joey and rocked him and saw tears appear on his face, on his forehead and nose, seemingly out of nowhere, that she realized she would never feel anything _but _despair.

She'd wiped her tears off his face then, and she'd held him close that night, as she did many nights after, just to feel something. To feel loved, and to love someone in return—someone who deserved it, who wouldn't abuse or exploit it. She'd held him close to remember that she still had one good thing that she'd been able to taking away from her old life and bring into her new.

Claire blinked when she heard Ryan clear his throat by her side; slowly she returned to the present as he answered the question she practically forgotten she'd even asked. "No," he replied, his voice soft. "I don't think it's childish, Claire. Not at all."

She turned her head to stare at him, stunned. Very few people had been in her house since Joe had been arrested. It was mostly law enforcement officials, her attorney, and one or two family friends who had "just heard." She could count on both her hands the number of people who had seen the pictures full, but no one but her—and now Ryan—had seen them empty.

"I... I just couldn't look at him anymore," she confessed, feeling the need to explain despite the fact that he'd proven he'd understood. "I couldn't stand seeing him here."

At her side, Ryan nodded, sipping his tea. "I don't blame you."

She closed her eyes, letting that reassuring sentiment wash over her like a calming breeze. _I don't think it's childish. I don't blame you. _She almost smiled; it felt so good to hear that. She'd been stuck in her head for much too long, and her head was not an understanding or forgiving place when it came to her past actions.

"Do you want to sit?" she asked, taking a seat with her back facing the frames and gesturing that he should take the opposite.

He did so, and for a minute, they both sat, drinking their tea and lost themselves in their own thoughts. Claire was the first to break it, saying the first thing that popped into her head: "I'm thinking of moving; of getting a new house."

Ryan blinked at her, surprise opening his face. "Really?" he wondered.

She nodded, shifting in her chair. "I think it's time."

"And... Are you sure this isn't just because…" he gestured around, and Claire could tell from the way he was avoiding being his straightforward self that he was attempting to spare her feelings. That made her smile for a moment, but she didn't stray from the unasked question.

"...because it's Christmas and I'm alone and depressed?" she finished for him bluntly. "No. I've…" She looked away. "I've actually been thinking about it for a while now. Taking the pictures down helped some, but…" She sighed, remembering all that had happened, even just this morning. "I'm still sleeping in the same bed," she murmured. "Eating in the same kitchen. Walking through the same door…" She trailed off, having nothing else to add. She knew he understood; she'd seen the look on his face when he'd stepped inside.

Silence hung between them for a moment before he inquired quietly, "You still... feel him here, then?"

Claire nodded, slowly lifting her eyes to meet his. "Every day," she replied softly.

He stared at her for a long moment, seeming to contemplate something—perhaps his own demons that Joe had left him with, Claire guessed—before asking, "So where would you move to? Out of state?"

She shook her head, setting her tea down on the small coffee table between them. "No," she answered, adjusting herself in her seat. "I was just thinking of going a bit further out into the suburbs. I still want to be near Richmond, just not..." She tucked her leg beneath her. "No so much in the center of things. I want to find someplace more out of the way."

Ryan nodded along, and she watched as his eyes drifted away from her face and over her shoulder. She knew he was studying the empty frames behind her, and for once, she couldn't be bothered to be embarrassed. She had to get out of here. He had to know that by now.

"I think that sounds like a good idea," he replied after a few seconds, his eyes finally journeying back to meet hers.

"Yeah," she murmured. "I'm hoping to—" She broke off, sighing as Joey's cries cut through her response. She shot Ryan an apologetic look before getting to her feet. "Sorry," she told him. "I put him down for a nap before and—"

"—and now he's awake," Ryan replied easily. He waved a hand towards the door with a smile. "Go ahead. Don't worry about me; I get it."

Claire spared a quick returning smile for him as well, just before hurrying out of the room and down the hallway.

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:::

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"Wow," Ryan couldn't help but whistle when she returned with her son, a screaming, chubby-cheeked, and wispy-haired little being tucked into her arms. "He's gotten big."

Claire grinned at his observation, glancing over at Ryan as she looked down at Joey, currently red-faced and crying. "You think so?" she asked quietly, her voice nearly drowned out by his wails.

"Oh, yeah," Ryan replied, chuckling softly as Claire sat back down with Joey in her arms now. "He's got some real meat on his bones now."

Claire laughed, situating him over her shoulder and rubbing his back to settle him. "He is getting a little heavier," she admitted with a smile.

"Before you know it, he'll be walking and talking."

"And driving me even crazier," Claire added. She turned the baby in her arms, and Ryan watched, smiling faintly, as she cooed to him, murmuring softly to soothe his cries. Miraculously, his full-fledged screaming died down in just minutes to soft, blubbering whimpers. Soon enough, he wasn't making a sound at all, simply staring up at his mother with wide eyes, and giggling whenever she tickled his stomach or squeezed his cheeks.

"How'd you do that?" Ryan couldn't help but ask, having watched the whole spectacle and still not understanding how she'd brought Joey down from hysterical crying to the softest giggling so quickly. He looked up at her. "That was amazing."

Claire laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, it was nothing," she excused modestly, shifting Joey in her arms.

"It was certainly something," Ryan argued quietly. He couldn't help but feel that, even if he was held at gunpoint and ordered to, he wouldn't be able to quiet a baby that fast. In fact, he'd probably only make the baby in question scream louder.

"It's not that hard," Claire replied. "It just takes practice." She stood up, moved around the table separating, and before Ryan could even utter a word in protest, she was passing her son over to him.

"You know," Ryan tried to explain nervously, "this isn't a good idea. I'm really not the kids type, Claire, and—"

"Oh, calm down," she smiled. "There's nothing to it. Just hold him, okay? Joey," Claire cooed to her son. "Do you wanna say 'hi' to Ryan?" she asked, depositing him carefully in the man's arms.

Ryan stared down at the infant, carefully holding the child with his arms and hands supporting his behind, backside, and head. He waited anxiously for the crying to begin again, but, amazingly, Joey remained silent. Ryan chalked it up to the fact that the baby's mother was sitting two feet away, but still managed to take a little pride in it.

When he looked up, Claire was smiling at him like she'd read his mind. "See? It's not that hard."

Ryan grinned back. "I think this one's been conditioned."

"Perhaps," Claire allowed easily.

Ryan bent his head, looking back down at the infant now resting peacefully in his arms. He couldn't remember the last time he'd held someone's baby. If he even had, in the past couple of years, it had never been for more than a second or two, just for a momentary favor. It had never been like this. All the other babies he'd come into contact with had been virtual strangers, but this one? He felt like he knew this baby. And what he knew was that this baby was going to be okay.

Joe had been captured, arrested, and was now facing trial. His sentence would most likely entail life without parole, if not the death penalty, and because Claire was Joey's mother, Ryan knew Joey wouldn't ever have to meet his father. The missing pictures on the wall told him all he needed to know about where Claire's priorities lay and her eagerness to move only stressed her purpose. She was going to get away from here, away from her past, as quickly and as completely as she could.

Silently, Ryan wished her luck.

Even he was having trouble trying to forget the past, and he'd only lost a handful of months to Joe, not his entire life, like Claire had. Though he didn't say a word aloud, he wondered privately exactly how she was supposed to move on. She could physically move, yes, and she could get rid of all the pictures… But how was she supposed to erase the memories? If they were anything like the nightmares that had been plaguing Ryan as of late, he couldn't imagine how she'd ever be free of Joe Carroll completely—or even partly.

Ryan kept his mouth shut, though, and banished those thoughts as he focused in fully on Joey.

It took him a few minutes to realize that Claire probably did the same exact thing, and that that was how she planned to move on.

.

Though he never looked at his watch, at least twenty minutes must've passed before Claire finally spoke, breaking the silence that hung about the room. Ryan looked up when he heard her, and he was surprised to not only hear the sorrow in her voice but see it on her face. Besides the early days immediately following Joe's arrest, he couldn't remember ever seeing her be so open with her emotions. Usually she tried to hide her feelings from those watching; the press, unfortunately, had taught her rather quickly to put on a brave face lest she wanted her tears and scowls on the cover of every tabloid and professional newspaper alike.

"I worry about him constantly, you know," she whispered, her voice hushed low as she confessed her fear like they were the most grievous sin. "I really—really do. Every day, I…" She bit down hard on her lip, shaking her head as she looked away. "Sorry," she whispered hoarsely. "I shouldn't be bothering you with this." She started to stand up. "I can take him—"

Ryan shook his head. "Sit down," he told her quietly. "And we're fine," he added, glancing down into Joey serene, sleeping face. The boy had fallen back asleep just a few minutes ago, and since he had, Ryan hadn't moved an inch for fear of waking him. He knew the minute he tried to hand the child off, he'd most likely burst into screams and tears again and he didn't want to make Claire deal with that all over again. "C'mon," he added, meeting her eyes as she reluctantly settled back into her seat. "Finish what you were saying. Tell me what you worry about with him."

Claire sighed heavily, a humorless laugh escaping as she averted her gaze before finally meeting his eyes. "Where to start?" she wondered sadly, and he watched as her eyes fell from his face to her child in his arms. "Well, first off, obviously, he's going to grow up without a father, in a single-parent household." She shrugged hopelessly, gesturing to herself. "Look at me. Do I look like I know how to be a single mother? Do I look like I know what the hell I'm doing?" She laughed bitterly before Ryan could even attempt to answer. "I know how to be a teacher," she informed him, as if he hadn't already known that, "I know how to be a teacher and a scholar—I know how to be an _academic authority_—but I don't know anything about kids. _Anything,_" she whispered desperately, staring down at the baby in Ryan's arms like Joey would offer her all the answers and information she wanted if only she admitted her ignorance.

Ryan cleared his throat quietly, reminding her softly, "You're a first-time parent, Claire. And no first-time parent ever knows what they're doing. You'll learn," he assured her.

"By myself?" Claire questioned.

Ryan nodded grimly, unable to avoid it. "Yeah, by yourself."

Claire looked away, absorbing that for a long minute before continuing: "So whether or not I end up being a terrible single mother or not remains to be seen, but more than that…" She sighed, closing her eyes. "You know once he's old enough to really hear and understand the whispers all around him, he's going to have questions. And then—then when he starts asking questions and I have to tell him, or god forbid he finds out himself, he's going to have to grow up knowing who his father was. He's going to have to carry Joe around just like I do." She wiped beneath her left eye quickly, where a tear had been about to fall. She focused her attention on her son again, and each time she blinked, the tears in her eyelids rearranged themselves. Ryan waited for them to fall with nervous—perverse—anticipation. He didn't know why, but he felt like it would do her some good, maybe, to just let it go. He did wish he didn't have to be here to see it, however.

"He's going to have to learn to prove himself, every second of every day, from the moment he's capable of walking out into the world on his own two legs. He's going to have learn why people look at him funny, why people cross to the other side of the street when they see him…" She sniffed, shaking her head hopelessly. "He's going to have to deal with not having any friends until he's practically an adult because—let's face it—what mother in her right mind would _ever_ let her child play with Joe Carroll's son?"

She shook her head helplessly. "It's so unfair," she whispered. "What did he ever do to deserve any of it? All the preconceived judgments and the indiscriminate hate he's going to face in this world… He did _nothing_," she pressed adamantly. "Nothing at all. It's not his fault his father was a… a monster." She sniffed. "It's not his fault his mother was so blind she didn't see; it's not his fault I was so stupid I never realized…" She shook her head, and Ryan watched, paralyzed with both shock and fear, as tear after tear fell down her face. When she sucked in a breath, and wiped them away, the sound of her ragged inhale could be heard throughout the room. "People are always going to think of Joe when they look at him. Always. His life is going to be defined by that monster and that's all my fault."

Ryan watched, not knowing what to do, as he saw her chin begin to tremble uncontrollably. He saw her bite down on her lower lip, but even that didn't seem to help.

"S—So he'll have a serial killer for a father figure, and a workaholic single mother for his only parent…" She attempted to chuckle bitterly, but the sound stuck in her throat and cracked on the way out. "My, his chances at having a normal life as just looking up and up aren't they?"

Claire shook her head, sucking in a harsh breath as she turned her head away, blinking rapidly in an effort to hold back even more tears. "It wasn't—wasn't supposed to be like this, you know," she whispered hoarsely, and Ryan wasn't even sure if she was talking to him anymore as her voice fell to an ever lower octave. "Joey was supposed to have a _good_ life, a—a perfect life. We'd provided for him, made a home for him, devoted time off to be with him. And now…" She threw her hands up suddenly, and Ryan jumped in his seat. "Now it's all gone to hell; everything's gone to hell." Claire sniffed, wiping beneath her eyes angrily as if the tears offended her. Ryan couldn't help but think that, if he cried as much as she seemed to, he'd hate himself for it, too. He wondered how to tell her that it wasn't something to be angry about. "I wasn't supposed to do this alone, you know," she whispered. "I wasn't supposed to have to raise him alone. I wasn't supposed to _be _alone. Joe was supposed to be _here_, with me, helping me, not—" She broke off, lifting a hand to cover her face as she groaned aloud. "_Jesus_," she muttered, spitting out the word like a curse, as she shook her head sadly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that, I promise. You must think I'm a psychopath as well now, but I swear I don't want him to—"

Ryan shook his head. "No," he replied at once, "I don't think you're anything of the sort. And you don't need to apologize." He held her gaze as she warily lifted her eyes to meet his. "It's... It's perfectly normal to want what you had before back, to want that life back after everything that's happened."

"Is it, though?" Claire sniffed, wiping her nose, and Ryan felt something inside him twist when he caught her eye and saw the tears swimming there. He hadn't even known her six months, but after all she'd been through... She didn't deserve to cry like this. Especially not on Christmas.

"He... He's a—a murderer," she choked out. "He's always been a murderer. Even when I thought..." She wiped her eyes, smearing her tears across her face. "Even when I was pregnant, when we had Joey..." She shook her head, looking away. "He was sneaking out at night and massacring those poor girls; he was ending lives, ruining lives…" She laughed humorlessly as a slightly maniacal smile turned up her lips for a split-second. "And here I am," she called, throwing up her hands, "complaining because now I have to raise a baby alone. Because my life is _so _hard." She exhaled heavily, burying her face in her hands and rubbing her skin.

Ryan watched her from his spot in his chair, unsure if he should get up and comfort her or not. Joey was still asleep in his arms and, like a coward, he used that to keep him glued to his spot. _Can't wake up the baby now, can you? No, not even to help his mother._

"God," she whispered, lifting her head a minute later. "I am so sorry, Ryan. You shouldn't be subjected to this." Ryan shook his head silently, trying to open his mouth to tell her not to worry about it, but he didn't manage it in time. "Christ," she muttered bitterly, rubbing the side of her temple. "Well," she laughed humorlessly, "congratulations, you've finally met her."

Ryan stared at her, confused. "Met… who?" he asked, finally having found his voice again.

"The serial killer's _crazy_ wife," she explained in an enthusiastic whisper, waving her hands as if showing off. "You've been holding out, like everyone else, to see this side of me, right?" She chuckled darkly. "The press keeps waiting for me to crack; they keep hoping to be there when I finally snap and fall apart so they can catch it on tape and in writing…" She shook her head. "If only they knew the secret was to spend an afternoon with me and carry on a normal conversation…" She sighed, shifting in her seat. She mimicked a news announcer's brash voice: "T-minus two minutes and she'll be in tears, making everyone around her _massively_ uncomfortable…" She sighed heavily, shaking her head. "I really am sorry, Ryan," she murmured sincerely after a moment of silence. "You came over here to be polite and check in on me, and that was just wonderful of you, it really was, and here I am—" She broke off, jumping to her feet. "Oh, god, and I've made you hold him, too," she muttered, hurrying over and scooping Joey up in her arms. "Damn it, I am _so_ sorry, Ryan. Really. I didn't mean—"

"No, don't apologize," Ryan replied at once, watching as she lifted Joey up and out of his arms and into her own. "It's fine, Claire." He shifted in his head, putting his hands on the arms of the chair awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with them now that he wasn't holding a baby anymore. "I didn't mind holding him," he added, the words simply slipping out.

Claire looked over her shoulder at him as she returned to her seat. She settled Joey against her chest, cradling him close before wondering, with a gentle smile turning up her lips, "Yeah?"

Ryan couldn't help but smile back. "Yeah." He nodded towards the child in her arms. "He seems like a good little guy."

Claire smiled to herself, turning her head and pressing her lips against her son's head. "He is," she murmured softly. They both watched Joey for a time before she wondered quietly, "Do you know much about kids, Ryan?"

"No," he admitted after a moment. "I don't really know anything about them at all." He smirked, nodding to the child in her arms. "Didn't you see me holding him? Come on, I know I looked like a novice. I've got no training."

"You didn't do a half-bad job," Claire disagreed with a smile. She looked him over. "So you've never been married?"

He couldn't help but laugh at the question, for it painted such a ludicrous ideas in his mind. He couldn't imagine marrying any one of his past couple girlfriends, let alone having children with one of them. "Not even close."

She eyed him, a faint smile turning up her lips as she pressed softly, intrigued now by his response, "Really?"

He shrugged, knowing she was seeking an explanation. There wasn't really one, so he settled on the vague but true answer: "Never met the right woman, I guess."

Claire appraised him for a moment before wondering quietly, "And how many women have you let yourself meet?"

Ryan stared at her, stunned both by the accuracy of her observation and the fact that she'd actually said it aloud. He and Claire known each other for months now, yes, but their conversations had never included much more than Joe Carroll or remarking upon the weather. For a second, as he digested her question, he felt like he was talking to Jenny again, listening to another lecture about how he had to put himself out there, had to forget about their parents, and Ray, forget about what they'd all been through... How he had to just forget it all and give himself _a chance to be happy!_—like it was that simple. Ryan couldn't help but smile a bit now at the irony of it all; he'd tried so desperately to avoid and ignore Jenny all day, and yet here she was, with her nagging digs at his personal life and unsettling perceptivity taking the strange form of Claire Matthews.

"What?" Claire wondered, noticing the look on his face. "What is it?"

Ryan shook his head, smirking. "Nothing," he replied, but the more he thought about it, the funnier it got, and he couldn't help but chuckle. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "You just sound like my sister, is all." He glanced over at her. "You sound a hell of a lot like my sister, actually."

"Oh, so she's a jerk who pries into your personal life, too?" Claire asked, hefting Joey more securely in her arms.

Ryan stared at her, blinking in surprise again at her bluntness, until she grinned.

"I was kidding," Claire assured him with an easy smile. She pointed to herself with a free hand. "I meant me. I'm the jerk. And if I sound like her…"

"Right," Ryan nodded in understanding. He smiled back briefly, unable to deny it or sugarcoat the Jenny topic after a day like today: "Yeah," he admitted, "she is a prying jerk. Never knows when to stop…not even after I explicitly tell her to." Claire laughed. "But, uh, you're not," he added honestly. "I didn't think you were prying."

Claire shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Oh, stop. Of course I was. You don't need to be nice about it."

"I'm not being nice; I'm just telling the truth," Ryan replied. He shrugged. "And I think you have a right to be a little prying."

Claire snorted. "What, you mean just because people poke into my life, I get to be nosy back?"

Ryan couldn't help but smile at her flippant attitude. "It would be nice if it worked out that way, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah." She sighed, shifting Joey from one arm to the other as he began to fuss. "It really would." She bent her head, cooing softly to her baby as he began to cry, and Ryan watched, oddly mesmerized, as she did so.

He didn't understand where her lack of confidence about being a single mother came from, or her certitude that Joey's life would only go from bad to worse in her care. He couldn't help but think, as he watched her, that she seemed like an excellent mother. Maybe she didn't have any previous experience, and maybe she didn't have a husband by her side anymore to help her out, but seemed to be doing fine so far—especially considering the circumstances.

And as for everything else, he could admit that she certainly had a right to be worried, and frustrated, and angry. She had a right to be scared, especially for Joey's future… But she had to learn to live with it all, too—like he was trying to—because, as Jenny liked to remind him on a daily basis, _Things are never going to go back to the way they were before. Just accept it and move on, Ryan._ As much as he would like to be able to prove her wrong, to shove it in her face, he knew his sister was right. Things _were _never going to go back to the way they were before Joe was arrested. None of those girls were going to come back from the dead. Sarah Fuller was never going to forget her attack. Ryan was never going to get his heart back in full condition and Claire was never going to get her husband back—and they all had to learn to live with it.

Ryan had thought it had been a nightmare, when the FBI had let him go. He thought he'd fallen as far as he could, thought his life was over and ruined, but then he'd looked at her and he realized—he wasn't even capable of even _beginning_ to understand what it meant to have one's life ruined. He didn't know what it _really _meant to have one's life be over, to have the entire world come crashing down around one's shoulders.

He looked at her now, and as much as it tore at him, to know how much she'd suffered—how much she _was_ suffering—and how little she deserved it, he couldn't help but be impressed. If he was in her position, he probably would have given up long ago. He probably wouldn't be anything close to a functioning human being at this point.

But she was. She was smiling and holding her baby; she was inviting him into her house when he had no right to intrude, and she no reason to put up with it… She was going above and beyond the call of duty here, and he couldn't help but think that she needed to know that. She deserved to hear that she was doing a good job. He wracked his brains for a few long minutes, wondering what he could say or do to repay her. He knew a simple 'thank you' or a plain 'everything will be okay' was not enough. People said those words to her on a daily basis; he knew they must've stopped having any meaning long ago. Ryan's eyes drifted away from her as he thought, and as he stared at the wall of empty frames behind her, an idea sparked in his brain. It wasn't much, but…

"Do you have a camera?" he asked, looking around the room.

Claire looked up from Joey, frowning in confusion at what Ryan knew must be a too-eager look on his face. "Yes…" she answered slowly. Her eyebrows knit together as she wondered, "Why?"

Ryan tipped his head towards the wall behind her and the empty frames that dotted it. "I think it's time you start filling those up." He got to his feet. "Where's the camera?"

.

:::

.

Claire shifted her weight as she stood by the destroyed wall, not knowing what to think. She'd told Ryan where the camera was a moment ago—stored at the bottom drawer of her desk in the study—but he'd refused to let her go and get it. She could hear him rummaging around across the house, and she was just about to walk over and help him, when the noise suddenly stopped. A second later, he appeared in the doorway, brandishing it triumphantly.

She was about to smile when she caught sight of it, but then she remembered the last time she'd seen it and used it, remembered who she'd been with at the time… She shut her eyes, squeezing them tight, as she wrapped her arms around Joey a bit more securely.

_Don't think of him. Don't think of him. Don't think of him._

"You ready?" Ryan asked.

She nodded, trying not to jump at the sound of his voice, as she attempted to shove the memories away and bury the emotions they evoked back down, deep inside the depths of her being where they belonged and should never rise from.

"I think if you stand over there…" Ryan pointed towards the bookcase on the far side of the wall. He smiled faintly. "We don't want the empty pictures in the background when we're trying to fill them, do we? Then this'll never end."

Claire didn't bothering replying that she wasn't sure it _would _ever end, regardless of how many pictures they took and where. She stayed silent, however, because he was being nice to her, and she wouldn't ruin this moment for either of them. She didn't know if she could foretell the next time someone would be nice to her; she figured she should take advantage of this opportunity while it was being offered to her on a silver platter.

She buried her head against Joey's little shoulder, pressing a kiss to his soft, doughy cheek as she walked over towards the bookcase.

"Here?" she asked, turning to face the camera.

Ryan nodded from behind it. "Yeah, that works."

Claire took a deep breath, forcing herself to banish the thoughts and memories that were creeping back into her consciousness again. She could see Joe's face every time she closed her eyes, and she could hear his voice when she let herself wander for even the shortest moment. She blinked, biting down hard on her tongue as she tried to force herself to forget. Like everything else she'd tried to accomplish in the last few months, it proved to be just another impossibility. Another failure.

"Claire," Ryan reminded her softly, his blue eyes surveying her face with concern as he lowered the camera a few inches to meet her eyes, "you should smile."

Claire shut her eyes, squeezing them shut tight to banish the tears she could feel starting to form. "Right," she whispered after a moment, nodding weakly. "Right, I know."

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked as she opened her eyes and focused on him again. "Because you don't—"

"Yes," she replied at once, cutting him off. "I'm sure."

"Okay," Ryan agreed easily, putting his eye behind the camera again, and she silently thanked him for not pushing the issue. She took a deep breath, tilted Joey's face towards the camera, and though she still felt like crying, she managed to smile when Ryan told her to. It even held through the flash.

.

"It's a good one," Ryan commented, stepping towards her after studying the camera's display for a moment. He held the device out to Claire as she hugged Joey to her side, allowing her to see.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting to see when she looked at the picture, but regardless, she was floored when she looked at the image. She couldn't stop staring at it.

_I don't even look like myself, _she thought, her eyes roaming over her own pixelated face in wonder. _I look like someone else._

She felt tears prick her eyes when she realized why she didn't recognize herself: she looked happy. Normal.

_I look the way I used to look._

She bit down hard as her tongue as she stared into the screen, her eyes starting to unfocus as she expelled her energy in attempting to keep the tears swimming in her eyes _in _her eyes. She would not cry in front of him; not again. Ryan didn't deserve to be put through yet another crying jag of hers—especially not when he'd come here voluntarily. _For God knows what reason, _Claire thought to herself, still not able to fathom why in the hell he'd been so nice as to just show up and check on her.

"You like it?" Ryan wondered by her side.

She nodded slowly, not trusting herself to be able to answer right away and not cry.

Ryan didn't seem to mind, for her turned a moment later, pointing towards the far wall. "Now you can fill up one of those frames. You'll have a nice, newer picture of you and Joey." He cleared his throat softly, turning back to her as he spoke in a low voice. "And I know… I know my opinion as non-father means next to nothing in this situation, but… For the record, from what I've seen… I think you're a wonderful mother, Claire."

She shook her head, continuing to stare at the picture because she wasn't able to look at him just yet. She really felt like she was going to cry now, and wasn't sure she could stop it anymore. "It doesn't mean nothing," she managed to reply somehow, trying not to let her voice come out sounding too hoarse. Her throat felt like it was trying to strangle itself. "But you don't know me," she added, lifting her face to meet his eye. "Outside of Joe, you don't know me. You don't have any idea what sort of mother I am."

"I know enough," he replied. "I spent an afternoon with you, remember?" Ryan smiled faintly. "And you don't seem crazy to me, Claire."

"Some…" She cleared her throat, finally lifting her head as she joked weakly, "Sometimes it takes more than an afternoon."

His smile widened for a moment as he murmured, "Maybe…" He held her gaze for a few seconds before looking away. "Well," he muttered, glancing to his watch, "it's getting late. I should probably give you your day back…"

Claire nodded, beating back the immediate urge she felt to reach out and stop him, to make him stay. Even though she wasn't looking forward to being alone in the house again, that didn't meant that she should subject Ryan to her miserable life. She knew he had enough problems of his own, and under no circumstances should she continue to bring down his life with hers.

For the thousandth time since Joe had been arrested, she thanked God that at least she had Joey for constant, loving company. She held him closer as she looked to Ryan, and finally just bit the bullet and said it.

"Could you, um, do me a favor before you go?" she asked. "Could you delete what's on there?" she wondered quietly, gesturing towards the camera he was setting down. "There… There are pictures of… of him on there and I don't want to see them when I upload this one."

"Uh… sure," Ryan replied, picking up the camera again.

Claire watched him, studying his face nervously as he cycled through the pictures. His face betrayed almost no emotion as he moved through file after file, and the less reaction she saw from him, the more she tried to remember exactly what he might be looking at. She knew there were photos from their last vacation on there, and she struggled to recall exactly when and where she'd used the camera on the trip. They hadn't gone far; with Joey being a newborn, neither of them had wanted to leave the country like they had the year before and so—

"There," Ryan interrupted her thoughts, holding out the camera for her to see. "All clear." He flicked the screen through the shots he'd taken today, and Claire couldn't help but exhale in relief when the cycle repeated itself, not having any other pictures to display.

"Thank you," she whispered, hoping to pour all of the gratitude she felt for him after today into those two small words. They weren't big enough.

Ryan nodded his head once. "You're welcome," he told her.

She licked her lips nervously, adjusting Joey in her arms. "Um, let me just… Let me put him down and then I'll show you out, okay?"

She carried him over to the cradle off the side of the living room, and took a moment to settle him in before returning to Ryan. They exchanged awkward smiles before she gestured towards the front of the house and led the way to the door.

"Well, um…" Ryan scratched the back of his head as they stood at the door, glancing over at her briefly as he murmured, "Merry Christmas, Claire. Thanks for taking me in for a couple hours. Sorry to have shown up like that."

Claire couldn't help but smile, shaking her head. "Did you know," she confessed, "that I'd pretty much forgotten that's what today was?"

He smiled faintly. "Sorry for reminding you," he muttered.

She shook her head. "You don't need to apologize, Ryan."

He held her eye, not speaking, before finally breaking their eye contact and looking away. "Well," he murmured, stepping towards the door, "I should probably get going…"

"Wait!"

Ryan turned, surprised at her outburst. Claire bit her lower lip, embarrassed, as she met his sharp, questioning eyes. "Look, I just… I wanted to say…" She exhaled sharply, remembering how little those two little words hadn't meant enough before. Would any other words do him justice? Mustering her courage, she stepped forward and—before she could really give herself a chance to think better of it—reached out and hugged him.

She could feel him freeze against her the second she did so, and immediately, she stepped back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered at once, moving away as quickly as she could as she felt her head spin with embarrassment. "I—"

"No," he interrupted quietly, "no, it's…" Claire swallowed, watching him as he trailed off, and waiting for it. She knew he had to say it, knew he felt obligated, but even she was surprised by how genuine the words sounded as they came out: "It's okay."

The smile she'd been struggling to plaster on her face suddenly felt real and no longer just a polite requirement as it spread across her cheeks. "I just—I wanted to say thank you," she told him. "For stopping by, and for taking that picture. And for deleting the others," she added. "For talking with me, and listening, and…" She sighed, smiling as she shook her head in wonder. She couldn't quite believe all that he'd done for her today. Who was he? "All of that really was... just so nice of you, Ryan."

Ryan's lips twitched, apparently amused at her praise, but she was grateful he didn't brush it aside. "You're welcome, Claire," he replied sincerely, looking at her. He held her eye for a moment before reaching for the door. "I should go," he murmured, and she nodded.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," she called after him. "And have a good New Year."

He smiled, nodding. "I will; thanks." He turned the knob, and even pulled open the door, but before he could step outside, he paused, looking over his shoulder at her. "I'll be… seeing you around?" he wondered.

Claire felt a smile turn up her lips at once and she nodded, pleased. "Yeah," she answered warmly. "I'd really like that. …If you can put up with me, that is," she added, only half-teasing.

Ryan smirked back. "Somehow, I think I'll manage," he assured her, just before heading out.

.

:::

.

Ryan hadn't even managed to put on his seatbelt by the time he heard his phone vibrate in the middle console between his car's two front seats. He shut his eyes, sighing as he leaned his head back against his seat's headrest. He knew he had to answer it. He'd ignored Jenny all day; he had to answer.

Maybe she wasn't even calling about Claire; maybe something else had happened.

For once, Ryan hoped for an emergency as he answered the phone… but he didn't rely on it.

"Jen, I'm on my way back," he spoke into the mouthpiece immediately once the call connected. "You can yell at me tomorrow, but I really don't want to get into it now. I'll explain myself when I get back, but right now, I just—"

"You don't need to explain yourself, Ryan," Jenny interrupted quietly.

Ryan frowned at the subdued sound of her voice, and he pressed the phone closer to his ear. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I was wrong, Ryan," she told him softly, and Ryan froze at her confession. He couldn't remember the last time his sister had _ever_ admitted to being wrong. Even when they'd been kids, she had _always _been right_, _no matter what anyone else said. _Jenny Hardy is never wrong _had been his family's unofficial motto, back before his mother had died, before jokes stopped being funny and laughter started being painful.

"What… What makes you say that?" he struggled to ask.

On the other side of the line, he heard Jenny sigh heavily. "They're talking about her on the news again," she murmured.

Ryan hung his head, shutting his eyes. He didn't need to hear any more; he already knew what they must've been saying. "Of course they are," he muttered, feeling very much like he wanted to crush the phone in his hands to smithereens.

"I… I know I said you should leave her alone, Ryan, and let her deal with this all herself—I know I was adamant about that, but—" Jenny broke off, and Ryan was surprised by the anger in her voice when she continued heatedly, "It's _Christmas, _for Christ's sake, and yet they won't leave her alone! It's Christmas and they're _still _talking about her!" Jenny exhaled furiously, and Ryan could tell from the scratching sound that came through the phone that she'd moved it away from her head to compose herself. When she returned, her voice was softer, calmer. "I know I said leave her alone," she repeated quietly, "but if I were her—if it was me dealing with all this—the _last _thing I would want is to be alone." She paused, and her voice turned instructive when she next spoke. Ryan couldn't help but smile. This was the sister he was used to; the one that gave orders and never took 'no' for an answer. "So if she calls you and needs to talk, you talk, okay? If she calls you and needs to see you, you drive down there, got it? I don't care if it's a ten-hour long conversation about the weather or a ten-minute visit on her porch. I don't _care_ what it is, but you need to do it, you need to be there for her. Just let her talk it out, just listen, all right, because you know, no matter what she says, that it will _always_ be about—"

"Joe Carroll," Ryan interrupted quietly, remembering the empty frames on the walls and the feeling of him all over the house. "Yeah, Jen," he sighed. "I know."

"So you'll be there for her?" Jenny pressed. "Because I know if I were Claire Matthews, I'd—"

Ryan chuckled, unable to hold it in. "Ah, so you're calling her Claire now, are you?"

He could hear the frustration in Jenny's exhale, and though he knew he was pushing his luck, he couldn't back off. "Yes," Jenny finally muttered. "Her name is Claire."

Ryan smiled. "Glad you finally figured that out," he mocked. "Good for you."

Jenny ignored his biting superiority with the same skill and passion she'd exhibited all through their childhood and adolescence. "If I were Claire Matthews," she repeated evenly, "the last thing I would want to be is alone. And the first thing I would want," she added, "is to have you there, telling me everything's going to be okay."

Ryan opened his mouth, struggling to respond while simultaneously digesting what she was saying. "Uh… Me?" he couldn't help but ask, reliving his and Claire's conversations throughout the afternoon with shame spreading through his being. Had he ever once told her things would be all right? Or had he really just sat there for hours, listening to her pour out all her ruined dreams and realized fears without ever once taking the time to tell her things would get better?

On the other side of the line, Jenny laughed softly. "Yes, you." Ryan could practically hear her smile. "You can be really reassuring, you know," she informed him. "When you try, that is," she added flatly.

Ryan nodded along with her words, but he wasn't sure he believed her. And he wasn't sure he'd tried hard enough with Claire.

"You…" Jenny sighed softly on the other side of the line, dropping her joking manner for a more serious tone. "You _are_ a good guy, Ryan," she told him earnestly, and he could tell just from the tone of her voice that she felt she shouldn't have to say that aloud for him to know.

Ryan smiled to himself, taking a moment to revel in that, before smirking as he asked, "A good guy? What happened to me being a 'jackass'?"

Jenny chuckled on the other line. "Don't you know by now, dear brother," she laughed, "that that's a term of endearment?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Oh, right. Somehow I forgot." He smiled, listening to Jenny laugh.

"Are you going to be back in the city tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah," Ryan nodded, shifting in his seat as he let his eyes wander and take in the suburban area surrounding him in all its understated and sprawling glory. It would be strange, going back into the city after being out here for so long. He wondered if he'd miss it when he woke up in his apartment tomorrow, with dirty, grassless sidewalks surrounding him on every side. "I am."

"We'll talk tomorrow?" Jenny asked quietly.

Ryan nodded, his eyes moving over Claire's house. It was still the only undecorated home in the neighborhood, but for some reason it didn't look so out of place now. The front blinds which had covered every window earlier had been pulled back from one of the windows, he saw, and he watched for a moment, seeing Claire hold Joey up and point out the falling snow as it passed by the glass. "Yeah," he answered, whispering the word as Claire spotted him and caught his eye across the street. She offered a small smile his way, waving, and then reached down to lift Joey's hand in his own little wave. Ryan couldn't help but smile as he watched them, and he waved back, switching his phone from one ear to the other. "We'll talk tomorrow," he murmured to his Jenny, his eyes still on Claire's. He barely heard his sister when she said goodbye, and he wasn't sure if his own words of parting were even audible. He was too busy watching Claire with her son, wondering when he'd next see her again, and how big Joey would be by then.

It was a long while later, just as he was going around DC to avoid traffic, that he finally realized he'd thought 'when' instead of 'if' and that, really, he didn't need to correct himself.

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:::

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**Author's Note**: Thank you for reading! I really hope this story wasn't too hard to get into despite the season.

I would love to hear your thoughts in a review below, please! Let me know how I did!


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